


The Domestic Approach

by Inthelittledoctor



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic garbage, F/M, Fluff, Lunch, general cuteness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthelittledoctor/pseuds/Inthelittledoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara tells the Doctor she wants to go out for lunch, and after some protests from him, they end up eating lunch at her flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Domestic Approach

'We should go out for lunch,' she's suggesting, rounding the console with her arms crossed. Uncrossing her arms and trailing a hand across the edge of the console, she's ceasing her movements once she gets in front of the staircase up to him, looking at him with hope in her eyes. 

'Why would we go out for lunch?' He's questioning, confused as to why she couldn't just grab something to eat in the TARDIS kitchen so they could go on an adventure quicker. 

'Well I just thought 'cause you're always taking me places maybe it would be nice to mix things up and have me take you somewhere for a change,' she's replying, beginning to stroll up the steps. 

He's snorting,'Where exactly would you take me?'

'A restaurant, obviously. Where else would we go for lunch?' She's questioning, making it to the final step. 

'Your flat,' he's replying, watching her carefully as she closes in on him. 

'Do you have something against restaurants?' She's questioning, her brow furrowing slightly. 

He's huffing out a laugh before replying,'No, Clara, I do not have something against restaurants.' Then he's turning around so that he's facing her, being careful so that his shoulder doesn't rub up against the blackboard he had been writing on. 

She's frowning at him before turning around and making her way down the staircase, walking over to the TARDIS doors without saying a word. 

'Where're you going?' He's questioning loudly, making sure she can hear him. 

'Home,' she's replying before leaving, causing him to huff and run down the TARDIS stairway, catching up to her outside the doorway. 'Clara,' he's groaning, reaching out and grabbing her wrist, attempting to pull her towards the TARDIS only to have her stop and turn around to face him, refusing to move. 

'I recommend you get in the TARDIS right now before I leave you, Clara,' he's warning, his voice low. 

She's slipping her wrist out of his grasp and linking her hand with his, stating,'You're not going anywhere.'

'I don't do domestics,' he's growling, still attempting to pull her back to the TARDIS, having her stand her ground. 

'Looks like you're going to have to learn how to,' she's informing, letting go of his hand and stomping off towards the kitchen. He's groaning and closing the TARDIS doors, deciding that if eating lunch at her flat would make her happy, then he would do it. But not because he wanted to of course. Because Clara Oswald wanted him to. And whatever Clara wanted him to do, he did. He's sauntering off towards the kitchen, his hands shoved into his pockets and a slight frown set on his features. He's leaning on the doorway as he gets to the kitchen, watching her as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing various things from the cupboards, her movements filled with frustration. 

'Clara,' he's calling out after a moment of watching her, deciding he'd rather not eat lunch with an infuriated small human. 

She's looking over at him, the look in her eyes softening as she sees him leaning contently on the doorframe. He's giving her a smirk that feels fake to him before questioning,'How about we just order in?'

She's looking at him for a moment, confused, before realising that he had just watched her slamming cupboards shut and throwing food onto her counter. She's sighing and nodding, not trusting herself with words. He's giving her a small smile and walking over to her, looking down at her and questioning,'Are you okay?' 

'Yeah,' she's breathing out, smiling sadly at him before continuing,'I'll order something in a minute. I need a few seconds to calm down, I think.'

'Okay,' he's saying, searching her features for a moment, watching as the look she's giving him becomes something intent. She's taking a step closer to him and wrapping her arms around his torso, burying her face into his chest. Wrapping an arm around her and sighing, he's looking down at the top of her head sympathetically. 

'Thanks for staying,' she's saying, her words muffled by his chest. He's wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

'You're welcome, I suppose.' He's replying, not quite sure what the appropriate response was. 

They're like this for a moment before he's pulling away, throwing her a smile and declaring,'I'm going to the living room.'

'Mind if I join you?' She's asking. 

He's holding his hand out to her and she's smiling, placing her hand in his. 'I'll take that as a yes. I'll be there in a minute, after I've ordered lunch.' 

Her hand is slipping from his and he's leaving the room with a hint of a smile on his lips, making his way to the living room and falling down onto the couch rather unceremoniously. Placing his hands on his stomach and kicking his feet up onto the armrest, a sigh escaping is him. Lunch with Clara in her flat. He never quite expected himself to become this domestic. It was only one meal though wasn't it, that wasn't too terribly domestic. Yet there was still that lingering feeling he had in his stomach whenever he had to spend time alone with her in her flat. He'd like to call it nerves, but he knew it wasn't that, because why would he be nervous when he was with a girl he was with all the time. Maybe anxiety? That may make sense, seeing as though he was constantly worried he would make himself look bad in front of her. Yes, that must be it. He's hearing her talking on the phone in the other room and smiling slightly, because she's using that voice again. The one she uses when she talks to anyone that wasn't him. It mad him feel special, and if he was being honest, he loved being treated that way by her. 

She's coming into the room with him a few minutes later, giving him a questioning look as she sees him stretched out on the couch. Walking over to his legs, she's nodding down and then and instructing,'Move.'

Snorting out a laugh, he's moving his legs back so she has room to sit next to him. This wasn't domestic. Not in the slightest. He refused to believe that it was. He's stretching his legs back out over her lap, hearing her huff as he does so. He expected her to lecture him, tell him that she wasn't a footrest and he had no right to treat her as such. But instead, she's simply putting her arms over his legs, dropping her head back against the couch, turning her head so she can look at him. Okay, so he may be extremely confused at the moment. Scratch that, he was absolutely lost. 

'I've missed doing this,' she's admitting, her words only causing him to become even more confused, if that was even possible. He's raising an eyebrow at her, as if asking her to elaborate, and she's realises that she'll probably have to because he doesn't remember. 'With your other face, we used to do things like this. Lay together and stuff,' she's explaining, giving him a soft, albeit sad, smile. 

The realisation's sweeping over him and he's frowning, his stomach feeling like it was concaving. Was this what guilt felt like? He's sitting up, supporting himself with his arms so he doesn't accidentally fall back. 'Do you miss him?' He's questioning. 

'Of course I do,' she's replying,'He was my best friend. But I have you now, and I wouldn't have it any other way.'

There's a moment of silence from him before he's questioning,'What am I to you, Clara?'

The silence that rang out after that moment scared the both of them. What exactly was he to her? And what was she to him? Neither of them really knew the answer to either of those questions. Thank God the Thai food place was so close or else the silence would've even become more distressing. The doorbell is interrupting their uncomfortable moment and he's mumbling a quick,'I've got it.' 

He's jumping off the couch and bounding to the door, only to be followed by her, her voice high as she exclaims,'You have no money!' 

His hands pausing right before he touching the door handle and he's spinning around, nodding back towards the door as if to indicate for her to get it. She's huffing and pushing past him, opening the door and putting on a fake smile. Exchanging a few words with the delivery guy, she's paying him and retrieving their food, closing the door as soon as the man turns to leave. She's trotting off back to the living room and he's following, the both of them sitting on the couch. They're knees are touching, but it's not like he notices or anything. Not like his hearts are racing just because her knee is touching his. Nope. 

He's hastily pulling his food out of the bag and beginning to eat, avoiding looking at her. She did the same. The question still hung between them. And now there was a new question mingling with that one. Who would be the first to break? Turns out the answer to that question was her. She's leaning forward and placing her food on the coffee table, turning towards him. 'What do you want to be to me?' The words are falling out of her mouth before she can even really think about it and she's snapping her mouth shut afterwards. 

It takes him a second to fully process her words and even after he does, he doesn't quite have an answer. What did he want to be to her? Her boyfriend? No, that didn't sound right. Her lover? That sounded like something from one of those romance novels she read on occasion (which he'd taken a peek at once and throughly regretted doing so five pages in.). He wanted to be more than just her friend, he knew that much, but he didn't really know exactly what he wanted to be. Actions speak louder than words, he's reminding himself, and that phrase may have just led to the worst decision he's ever made. Taking a deep breath out, he's mumbling,'I'm sorry.' 

And he's looking at her to see her looking rather confused, but he's not giving her much of a chance to talk because his hand is on her cheek and his lips are on hers. Okay, so he's kissing her. Try to keep calm. Calm calm cal- Gods, was that her lips moving against his? She's actually kissing him back, and he's not quite sure he remembers how to breath. His hand is on her chest and he's pushing her back gently, her lips leaving his. He's looking down and bouncing his knees nervously, waiting for her to say something. 

'Wow,' she's breathing out, looking at him quickly before staring at the coffee table in front of her nervously. It's his turn to look at her as he raises an eyebrow, questioning,'Wow good or wow bad?' 

She's looking at him and they're making eye contact, her seeing how nervous he actually was. 'Wow good, you idiot.'

He's smiling and instead of replying, he's holding her hand delicately in his, squeezing it lightly. Leaning forward, she's pecking his lip and grinning as she pulls away seeing his slightly flushed face. With a giggle, she's slipping her hand out of his and grabbing her food off of the table in front of them, beginning to eat again. He's following her example and they're eating in silence, passing each other the occasional glance. There came a moment where she hastily put her food on the table and jumped him, her lips attacking his and his lunch is all over the floor now, but he honestly doesn't care. He's kissing her and that's all that matters. 

If this is was what being domestic was like, then he was okay with it. And as a matter of fact, he'd like to do it far more often.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This isn't my best work, I'm aware, but I felt bad for not publishing for a while, so I've been writing all weekend to make up for it. Kudos if you enjoyed and comments are always appreciated (not only are they appreciated, but they also help me write!).


End file.
